Can You Take the Blood?
by Tami-Shoeno
Summary: As a peaceful nation cut off from the rest of the world sleeps there lurks something strange in the dark, something untamed and unsatisfied.
1. Beautiful Disaster

Murder is just another task, a mere chore. the more interesting the chore the more you will want to do it. The more praise you attain from a task the more you will want to do it. Scrubbing dishes, mopping the marble flooring, and sanitizing areas is not my specialty and was not in my training, but you know that already, do you not?

My blood ran cold, like ice crystals expanding then shattering into a razor ice slushy that coursed through my veins, pumping in the thick life muscle known as my black colored heart. Adrenaline seized control and I allowed it to intoxicate and dominate my body.

I had witnessed murders in cold blood, I myself have murdered in cold blood, in the most gruesome of ways imaginable, but never had I seem something so contorted, muddled to an animistic point. Never had I witnessed a scene full of so much blood that the walls, floor, furniture, ceiling even, was entirely drenched in the essence of only one being's life fluid. Never had I smelt such a pungent odor, or seen as much paper white bone protruding and exposed from the skin, stripped from tender tendons, ligaments, tissue, and flesh.

The being was skinned, alive I presume. In the corner, a foot exactly to the left of the twisted, mangled thing was the "poor soul's" skin, rotting away with every tick the clock emitted. From the putrid aroma and discoloration of the skin it could be determined corroded and easily categorized as charred. Pests such as flies began to gather in large quantities. A clock lay stationary two feet to the right of the unidentifiable victim. Vital organs were missing from the grotesque body, others, such as the bowel and intestines, were strung around the mound of pure tissue, muscle, and bone like creative decorations.

The skin had been stripped cleanly, however, the muscles were torn and shredded to an extreme-clearly unnecessary.

The eyes lay in a porcelain bowl, a foot and a half ahead of the bloodied artwork, and melted down until liquefaction.

Hair was strewn around the room like Christmas tinsel, most portions turned to ash when touched so they were deemed burned beyond repair and inaccessible for identification. This stunned the already clueless members present.

The cheap, once tan carpet acted as a sponge and soaked up the cooling, clumping, sticky blood. The walls were painted deep scarlet, maroon, mahogany, and a crimson red; they defiantly broad casted the 'impure' acts that now presented themselves to the world; to the outcasts of our anti-social, lonely nation.

Injuries that were attained prior to the violent action brought to my attention had just begun to fester, they could not be more than two weeks old.

A puddle of lipids, waste, urine, and pus resided a foot and a half behind the mountain of muscle, tissue, organ, and bone.

No detective would be able to crack this case, let alone stomach the sight and scent that I found so alluring, so inspirational, so beautiful and artistic.

The most fascinating of sights was three feet diagonal from the pile of grounded, decorative meat. The heart had been dissected and obtained then placed in a large metal box with the top half sawed off. The best part- the heart was emitting an untamed blue flame, smoke bellowing from the muscled pipes that once were connected to arteries and veins. Blue vs. red, a heart thrown to the flames, a possible signature.

This scene was a beautiful mess, a beautiful perfect mess; a _beautiful disaster_.


	2. Sir

"What do we have here?" A gruff voice sounded through the room, loud and full of authority with a burly body to match. His hair was a dulling dark brown, and though he was well into his fourties the man had no signs of graying. His hairline was receeding, just barely. His guarded brown eyes flicked to me and his expression seemed to waver. He looked ill and unsteady.

"Male, likely to know the area and its inhabitants well. In his thirties or fourties."

"A local, Herse?" His nose scrunched in disbelife, offended by my words. His eyes narrowed in disgust and he stood just a bit straighter now.

I nodded before I would continue, "I assume he was also in a ward."

"A...ward?" His left eyebrow twitched upwards, a scowl bending his lips. He inclined his head and stepped closer to me, his back turned away from the most beautiful bits of carnage.

"A psyche ward, Sir."

"Why woud you assume that?"

"His mental stability is questionable-"

"That much is obvious, Herse! What sane man would create such violence?" His face was splashed in red, his eyes wide and his nostrils flaring with anger. Spit coated his lips and a heavy breath ripped passed his parted lips.

"-also, take a look at-"

"the severity of this situation."

"-the organization of the parts, Sir." My voice sounded alien to my own ears. It was monotone and bored, like a guard who had to watch over a teddy bear. There was no passion, not with him by my side. The inspector gagged. His spine curled as he doubled over. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead as he panted. His hands gripped onto his knees tightly enough that his knuckles had begun to turn white. "Inspector?"

"I'm fine, I just need some goddamn air that isn't tainted with evil incarnate," he muttered breathlessly.

"No, Sir, take a closer look at the placement."

"I don't understand what you want me to see Herse." He clenched his jaw and stood, slowly.

"At first I thought it was a cross, ressembling someone of the Christian community, but when I observed it again," I paused and glanced back at the glistening red artwork behind me then turned back to the inspector, "it's an f sir. I think he is trying to tell us something." The inspector's face cleared of his discomfort and disgust. His eyes grew cold and stress lines were beginning to form around his pursed mouth. "I think he's just getting started, Sir."

"I want a patrol car within a fifty foot radius of here."

"This might not be the last, or even the first maime tonight," a smile was tugging at the corners of my lips in anticipation of seeing more of his work. I quickly forced it down into the blandnes of pursed lips before the threat of a smile could break loose and take control, after all, that wouldn't be very proper of an inspector.

"The poor man."

"Man, Sir? How could you tell?"

"A female would be too easy to overpower. It would take the thrill away."

I wonder if he understands what he has just said.

_It would take the thrill away._ The inspector thinks killing is a thrill. Killing men is a thrill. After all of the prisoners he has exicuted it would be hard not to see it that way, I suppose. Men are too messy. They're bodies are grotesque. "I see."

"How did you know? I heard the officers say that his clothes were taken behind this damned, abandoned waste of tax money." His eyes narrowed as he eyed the door, his exit. "Should have been torn down ages ago if you ask me," he muttered under his breath as he turned back to me. His face was still flushed.

_No one did ask you, __**inspector**__._

"I never said that I did know, Sir."

"You didn't argue, you made it obvious enough that you knew. How did you know?" He repeated the question, his voice firm.

I turned back to the beautiful disaster and motioned toward the pile with glistening white bones decorating a fleshy mass of red. "The pelvis bone, Sir. It's male."

The inspector lurched foreward, his head bowed as he gagged violently. "Dare I ask, where is his..." He trailed off in a weak, breathless voice.

"Reproductive organ? I heard that a stray took it, Sir."

The inspector fled the room and flung his body out of the door. I could hear him groan around his dry gags until the sound of the chunky fluid that was his late supper poured onto the grimy street. I stepped outside, though I stayed a fair distance of five feet away from the inspector. The air was damp with the scent of decay.

"Sir? If you do not want to persue this case I am certain that we can pass it along to the head department of the capital. I am sure that they would understand if you did not want to take on such a," my nose scrunched up as I thought of an appropriate word for him, "gruesome case. No one would frown upon you or think differently of you for it."

_Except for me._

"How do you handle it, Herse?" He mumbled breathlessly, still doubled over.

"Pardon, Sir?"

"How do you stomach all of the scenes we visit. The sites filled with blood. The mangled bodies. The raped children spread out and cut up on the floor, lying broken with no one around to save it. How do you handle that? It's inhuman, but you remain unaffected, as though it were as natural as breathing."

"It is natural for someone to have to solve it, Sir."

"But you were never affected, not even on our first assignment when a man had broken down and beheaded his wife. He ran a knife through her body so many times there were gaping holes running down her torso. He cut words into her face and shoved a tube of lipstick in her mouth. He shot himself in the head. His brains were everywhere." He gagged, spit dribbling down his chin as he whimpered.

"Some of us are just able to process things differently, Sir. Some of us can take away are humanity in order to-"

"Then you are not human and you belong in a ward yourself." He snapped, his voice scratchy and low from losing his supper.

"Sir, I think it is time that you dismiss yourself before I have you removed from the premises. You lack strength. You have exherted too much energy and your body is undoubtably exhaused. Give yourself a night's rest and console your wife before she comes down to the station again."

The invespector reluctantly sighed as he stood, "I suppose you are right, Herse."

"'Night Sir."

He grunted and nodded his head in response. "Get someone to clean that hellhole up."


End file.
